


Violets

by Miso



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Crying, M/M, Spoilers, dutch is a fucking mess, like MAJOR chapter 4-5 spoilers, like. lots of ugly crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: Dutch going mad wasn't as slow as everyone thought it was.





	Violets

**Author's Note:**

> sorry dutch. :C is it in character for him to be this upset? probably not. do i care? NOPE!!!!!! as stated in the tags there are some MAJOR spoilers in here so i recommend yall dont read it if u dont want chapters 4 and 5 spoiled!!!
> 
> i thought it was pretty telling that dutch only started going like. legitimately, dangerously banana sandwich after hosea died. sure he was never stable but good LORD did he snap after saint denis. rockstar makin me feel bad for these well-written but horrible people once again.
> 
> im such a sucker for ~strong~ characters breaking tf down and this includes ppl that u wouldnt expect it wanting/needing to be held/hugged. someone write a modern au where dutch gets some goddamn therapy

To most, Dutch's spiral into madness was slow but steady. To Arthur, the one who knew him best, it felt like it was nearly overnight. That whole mess in Saint Denis was the catalyst, he figured. All at once, everything collapsed in on the lot of them, and Dutch, being the leader, bore the weight of it.

It wasn't like losing Hosea and Lenny wasn't hard on Arthur, too, he caught himself thinking. Hell, Hosea's death was hard on everyone. Hosea was like the entire gang's father. (They might have called themselves "sons of Dutch" or "the van der Linde boys" but really, Dutch was more like an uncle that was a bad influence, and most of them knew it, deep down. At the very least, he was the 'fun' parent that let them do bad things that Hosea would probably give them a good yelling at for later.) Then all that mess with Guarma, and the sugar plantation owner, and coming back, and... the doctor.

Arthur coughed into his hand, examined it for a second, and sighed a little when he spotted the blood. He was dying, and he knew it, and part of him only hoped he outlived Dutch. It felt like his entire life was collapsing, and sooner rather than later Dutch's broken dreams and shattered ideals would overwhelm him like crashing waves. Dutch had lost so much in the last few weeks, and despite himself, Arthur prayed to whatever God would have him that he he wouldn't have to deal with losing the boy he'd practically raised.

"Arthur?"

Arthur glanced up from the muddy toes of his boots. "Sadie."

"... Dutch asked me where I buried Hosea."

"Surprised he didn't ask you sooner." Arthur leaned back and took as deep of a breath as he could. "So where did you?"

"... Somewhere he would've liked," Sadie answered. "It was one hell of a ride but we took him up into the Grizzlies. Buried him on a real pretty hill, lots of flowers and critters around. Lenny ain't too far away. They would've liked it." She paused and the silence hung heavy like the Spanish moss they'd languished under in Saint Denis not that long ago. "I... I don't wanna impose on you, I know you ain't well-"

"I'm fine," Arthur lied through his teeth. "But you want me to go with him and make sure he doesn't do nothin' stupid, right?"

"... Look... I know he ain't quite... himself. Since y'all got back from that island he's been different and... and it's not easy to watch him. I ain't even known him that long, but he... him and Hosea both meant a lot to all of us."

"He ain't gonna let me. He's gonna wanna go alone."

"Then follow him! Arthur, I... we can't lose anyone else. Not now."

"The hell do you think he's gonna do?"

Sadie fell quiet again. So did Arthur. "... I'll follow him."

"Thank you, Arthur." Sadie stepped aside to let Arthur pass her. "I'll... take care of things 'round here. See if you can't get him to let you go with first, though?"

\---

"Dutch?"

No response. Arthur stepped closer to Dutch, who was semi-catatonically brushing the Count. The white stallion snorted distrustingly at Arthur, who offered a soft "easy, big guy" before getting any closer. "Dutch...?"

Silence.

"Dutch, goddammit!"

When the Count whinnied at the sudden shout, Dutch seemed to snap up like he'd been in a trance. "Oh. Arthur. Morning." Dutch cleared his throat and set his brush aside. "I'm just... going for a ride. Don't mind me."

"... You're going to visit Hosea, ain't you?"

Silence as Dutch unwound the Count's reins from the hitching post.

"Dutch..."

He climbed into the saddle without a word.

"Can I go with you? Keep you company?"

"That won't be necessary, Arthur."

"Hosea was important to me, too..."

"I know he was. He was..." Dutch's voice caught in his throat. "He was important to all of us, Arthur, and if it could be me in that hole instead of him..."

For the first time, Arthur knew for sure Dutch meant that. "Then lemme go, Dutch. You-"

"I am _fine_ and you will stay here and make sure no one else leaves me." Dutch wheeled the Count around without a further word, spurred him, and rode off.

Arthur sighed a little, shook his head, and moved to the post where his own horse stood. "C'mon, Magnum," he murmured to the dapple grey Thoroughbred as he mounted up, turned, and followed the trail of hoof prints the Count had left.

\--

The view was gorgeous. He had to give Sadie that, at least. She really had found a pretty spot. The trail of hoof prints, though, seemed to go on forever, and as the sun lowered, Arthur wondered if he would ever make it back to camp. His cough seemed a little better in the fresh mountain air, though, which he figured was some kind of very thin silver lining.

A shock of white caught his eye through the trees, and he brought Magnum to a halt to observe. Sure enough, there stood the Count, ever patient as he awaited the return of his master. God, that was a good horse.

He maneuvered the stallion a ways away before dismounting and creeping back towards where he'd spotted Dutch's steed.

It took a bit to retrace his steps, but Arthur manged to stifle his cough and tune in to his surroundings. At first, it was a lot of nothing; birdsong and the occasional, distant cry of an elk spooked by something or another.

Then he swore he heard sobbing. Heavy, heartbroken sobbing, coming from a distinctly masculine person.

For a moment, he doubted his own ears, as he pressed his back to a large boulder. Dutch didn't cry. He wasn't physically or emotionally capable of it. Maybe twenty years ago, but... not now.  
Then a voice that was definitely, undoubtedly Dutch's came. "Why wasn't it me?"

_Oh, Dutch._ Arthur licked his dry lips and thought about stepping out from behind the boulder there and then and making his presence known before deciding against it.

"... You didn't deserve this," Dutch murmured, voice choked with tears. "You didn't deserve any of this, Hosea. I..." A harsh sob.

Arthur just barely peeked over the rock. Dutch knelt at the foot of Hosea's grave, tears visibly streaming down his face. God, Dutch _could_ cry. The shock of it almost sent Arthur back behind the rock to process what he'd just seen, but... no. No, he had to watch this. Just in case.

Dutch gritted his teeth and let out a couple of shaky, heaving breaths. For a moment, the tension was thick enough that Arthur swore he could have cut it with a knife.

Then he _screamed_. Arthur had never heard a man who wasn't dying scream like that, and it was loud and pathetic enough to make him wince. Hell, it barely sounded human at all. One time, Arthur had missed his shot with an arrow while hunting a particularly large buck, and the cries it had made before he put it out of its misery haunted him for weeks.

He had a feeling the sound of Dutch- his friend, his brother in arms, the closest thing to a father he'd ever had outside of Hosea- crying like he'd been shot would haunt him for much longer. Arthur took a deep breath (and barely stifled a cough) to compose himself. He hadn't signed up for this wanting to cry, himself. He'd figured Dutch would say a few words, maybe shed a manly tear or two, but... this was almost out of character.

"I'm so sorry," Dutch breathed, through the sobs and gasps, "I-I'm so sorry, I... I wish it had been me, Hosea, I wish it had been me, you didn't... you weren't supposed to..." He wrapped his arms around himself and clutched at his own biceps.

For a moment, Dutch just wasn't Dutch. He was not a charismatic, powerful leader, not a dangerous outlaw, not a degenerate murderer. He was a lost, broken man who just wanted the most important person in his life back. The way he hunkered down into himself and- god, Arthur wasn't sure if he felt sympathy, pity, or both- _physically embraced himself_ made him look almost like a frightened child.

After a moment of quiet, Dutch spoke again. "I love you. I never said it enough but I love you, god, Hosea, I love you so much..." A ragged sob. "Where ever you are, please... please know I love you... I'm... I'm gonna fix this."

Arthur furrowed his brow and leaned in a little closer. Dutch whimpered. "I... I don't know how but I'll fix it. I swear. I can fix it. S-somehow." He was still holding himself. "... Just... wish I could... one more time, Hosea. One last time, I wish you'd hold me." He tightened his grip on his own arms. "... You meant more to me than I ever got to say. I love you. Always will, Hosea."

He glanced to a patch of violets growing nearby, plucked one from the ground, and laid it atop Hosea's grave. Dutch sniffed one last time, ran his fingers over where Sadie had scratched Hosea's name into the wooden cross she'd managed to fashion, and stood.

"... Dutch."

Arthur stepped out from behind the rock, and Dutch tensed immediately. "... I told you to stay at camp."

"I couldn't let you come out here alone. Swallow your pride for a minute and admit you need someone, sometimes."

"... I do need someone, Arthur, and he's six feet under." Dutch whistled for the Count, who trotted to his side in moments. "You are not him. You cannot give me any sort of orders. I won't allow it." He swung his leg over the Count's hindquarters, settled himself in the saddle, and shot Arthur a glare through his tears. "We'll discuss this later. Either come back to camp or stay out here a while, I don't care."

"You can't run from everything, Dutch!" Arthur half-yelled, half-croaked as Dutch tugged the reins to turn the Count back toward camp. "Talk to us! We're worried!"

Dutch didn't answer him as he spurred the Count to a gallop and vanished into the distance, trailed by dust and mud.

Arthur sighed heavily, shook his head, and elected to stand at Hosea's grave and reflect a minute.

"... I dunno what we're gonna do without you," he murmured. "You know, you were the only thing keeping Dutch sane." A glance up to the skies. Arthur had never been religious, and he knew if there was a Heaven, the chances any of them had of going to it were slim, but... he could hope. "If you can hear me somewhere, Hosea... god, just help him."

Arthur replaced his hat on his head, nodded toward the wooden cross, whistled for Magnum, and headed off, once again following the Count's hoof prints.


End file.
